


The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

by plastic_cello



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastic_cello/pseuds/plastic_cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With every year after that, he would remember what Secretary Pierce had said that day. The Winter Soldier was a weapon; he was not human. Yet he had somehow forgotten that warning along the way. And that's why he had ended up in the position that he was in twenty years later.</p><p>It was the only explanation on how he had fallen in love with the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

**Author's Note:**

> I finally mustered up the courage to try a Rumlow/Bucky story, although it does have Steve/Bucky in it as well.

* * *

 

**Prologue**

 

* * *

 

 

It was a ghost story. Brock had heard it within a month of being recruited into HYDRA. Two senior agents had been muttering over unappetizing cafeteria gruel about  _him_. They hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed by Brock's eavesdropping, and continued their conversation like they weren't, at least, partially crazy.

Within weeks, he had heard it again; a codename spoken with reverie and respect, but also fear too. Brock had taken it with a grain of salt, unconvinced by the outlandish tales connected to the name. He'd suspected much of the things he had heard circulated around was meant to scare away the new recruits. But he wasn't that stupid to run away with his tail between his legs; he wasn't scared of a story.

Maybe he should have been, though. Because as his presence in HYDRA grew, the murmurs became deafening loud. The higher he rose in the ranks, the more people spoke freely about the entity called the Winter Soldier.

Exploits of this supposed missionary followed him from assignment to assignment. Gruff and hardened HYDRA supporters would comment on how much easier each situation would have been if the Soldier was there. None of them elaborated when asked point-blank about the Soldier, which only aggravated Brock unendingly.

The secrecy but the blatant chatter continued for almost four years. Soon the annoyance turned to acceptance, and Brock learned to live with it. He heard the exaggerated stories about assassinations credited to the Soldier, and his inhuman efficiency. He heard it all, but he let his curiosity die away. And that's when everything changed.

It had been a typical Thursday morning. Or as typical a Thursday morning could be within a government organization within a secret sect based around a Nazi's ideals. Brock and the STRIKE team had only just arrived from a SHIELD mission in Bosnia, when he'd been called to Alexander Pierce's office.

Secretary Pierce had been the one who initially recruited him to HYDRA. They hadn't spoken much since then; the chain of command was important in HYDRA, Brock received his orders from his superiors and they received them from theirs. So this was an unorthodox practice.

Despite his cool demeanor as he made his way upstairs, Brock had been a mess of anxiety. The mission had gone as well as it could have gone; it didn't directly affect HYDRA either negatively or positively. Also, there hadn't been any civilians harmed or killed; everything had gone according to plan.

Very little came to mind in terms of why Secretary Pierce wanted to speak to him. He hadn't had done anything that would lead up to this. There wasn't any indiscretion on his part; he didn't flap his lips when it came to his association with HYDRA. He hadn't stepped a toe out of line; he, essentially, had been the perfect soldier with a clean record.

Once he had stepped into Pierce's office, Brock's heart leapt to his throat. The secretary had been staring out the window and out onto the capital. His face had been blank and oddly serene; even when he had turned to face Brock, nothing had really changed.

"Agent Rumlow, a pleasure to see you," Pierce announced, once he'd finally turned to face him. "Have a seat; I'm sure you're tired. From what I've heard you were exceptional; your superiors say you have the makings of a leader."

Brock awkwardly shuffled his feet, before he perched on the edge of a comfy Italian leather chair that Pierce had set up for guests. He had equally been just as awkward about the compliment. Not that he hadn't seen himself as an efficient leader, but that someone so highly revered acknowledged it was another story altogether.

"Thank you, sir."

"That's what we need around here – leaders." Pierce pushed his hands into the pockets of his gray waistcoat. "We need trustworthy and dependable people, and that's where you come in Rumlow."

The praise had been welcomed, especially since he had assumed otherwise. So he listened intently; he hadn't interjected with any unnecessary gratitude though. It would have felt counterproductive; he'd always felt that way about sheepishness. He shouldn't have felt the need to thank someone for recognizing his hard work.

"Recently, something unfortunate happened." Pierce explained. "A long-time member of HYDRA had, let's say an accident. He died and left a vacancy in the organization. Pretty nasty business, but that's beside the point. I've been watching you, and I think you would be an impeccable replacement."

"A promotion,"

"Of the highest order, soldier,"

"Would I be moved out of STRIKE?" Brock asked, considering he truly enjoyed his work; although some of his team members deserved a bullet in their heads for being downright stupid.

Had he'd been given free reign back then, he probably wouldn't have balked at the thought of executing one or two of his comrades. Not everyone was exceptional; if anything most people were expendable, collateral damage if you would.

Pierce looked at him with a small quirk of his lips; it hadn't been a smile, although it oozed of amusement. It would have made Brock angry had it been directed at him by anyone but the secretary. He never took kindly to belittlement.

"No, of course not; you'll proceed as you have been, in between SHIELD and HYDRA. This promotion, well it isn't a full-time position. It's of the utmost importance, however." Pierce tilted his head towards the door. "Let's go for a walk; it'll be better to see what you'll be doing than trying to explain it."

Wariness tunneled its way into Brock's mind, but he was never the type not to follow a direct order. So he had stood and allowed Secretary Pierce to lead him back into the lift; where he had swiped an identification card from his pocket, had his retina scanned, and also had pressed his thumb to the panel.

Even with all that done, Pierce still had to type in a code far too quickly to be read by Brock. Wherever they were headed it was clearly of the highest of security levels; probably not even Director Fury had permission to access the area that they were headed to. Which only meant that Brock had been getting the promotion of a lifetime; at that time, it had remained to be seen if it would be a positive thing or not. It still remained to be seen in all actuality.

" _Welcome, Secretary Pierce; how may I be of service to you_." A feminine voice announced overhead.

"Ground zero, please," Pierce said pleasantly, before being given an affirmative by the computerized voice.

The lift jerked underneath their feet, and slowly descended. D. C. rolled in front of their eyes; it had been a warm October day, and the leaves had been a combination of yellow, red, and orange. Faced with any other memory, Brock wouldn't have been able to recall the weather, the scenery, the goddamn fucking nothing. Not even the day he'd lost his virginity had been as vivid as that day when he and Pierce had gone to ground zero.

Brock remembered how the city view had turned into cement and metal within moments. The underground hanger had slid into his vision. SHIELD agents had been striding across the catwalks, while others had been elbow deep in the bellies of several aircrafts. Business as always, business as it would always be; none of them had known (just like him at the time) how everything had been about to change for them all.

Lower they descended, into territory that Brock hadn't even known even existed. For several moments, the compartment they were riding in had turned pitch black. Pierce started to whistle what had sounded like The Good, The Bad and the Ugly theme; which had done very little in easing Brock's discomfort.

After what must have been several minutes, the lift lurched to a dramatic stop. Brock slapped a hand to the glass to keep himself upright. It was dark still in the elevator, but once the doors rolled open; bright light streamed in which was a relief.

Ahead of them there was a sterile, white hallway. It went on as far as the eye could see; abandoned by everyone. Secretary Pierce stopped whistling by then, and was the first one to step foot onto the tiled floor.

"Time is of the essence, Rumlow. I wouldn't want us to be late."

"Yes, sir," he replied and followed Pierce, who had already been starting down the hallway.

Brock fell into step with Pierce. Their footfall was magnified, sounding like the rhythm of a war drum. They didn't pass by another living soul as they made it to the halfway mark of the hallway. But as they turned a nearby corner, there was a group of men in lab coats waiting for them.

The eldest man with a pinched an unfriendly face moved to Pierce's available side. The others dispersed like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Some had slipped behind heavy doors, and others hurried the way they had come from; breathless in the pursuit of distance.

"Is the asset ready for transport?" Pierce asked calmly.

"After a lengthy process, yes," the doctor returned in a Russian accent. "It's been sometime since the asset has malfunctioned to this degree."

"Oh, you mean since the winter of '53. I read about that."

"Not badly as then, I assure you."

"Badly enough that we're one handler short," Pierce shot the doctor a pointed look, which would have made anyone cower; the doctor didn't, though.

The conversation ended awkwardly then. Neither party looked especially pleased with the other; the doctor's face had grown even sourer than it originally been. The man looked as if he had spent much of his life exposed to bitter winters and war and famine; it wasn't probably far from the truth either.

Several turns and a walk through a security checkpoint finally led them into a poorly lit vault. Crates of all kinds were piled to the ceiling haphazardly. Some were marked with a Stark Industries logo while others were written in Russian, and some even in German.

In the center of the vault stood an oversized cylindrical object with an agent beside it; Brock had seen him in passing more than once. The agent in question was named Bishop, and he looked to have gotten beaten to hell and back. His entire face was black and blue; his eyes were almost sealed completely shut too.

"At ease, soldier." Pierce spoke as they approached, although his tone wasn't a happy one.

"Secretary Pierce-"

"I already heard the excuses, Agent Bishop. I don't need a repeat; it won't bring Agent Williams back to life."

"Sir,"

"Agent Rumlow this is Mark Bishop; he's been assigned to the particular assignment for eleven years now. You'll work closely with him for several months, in order to prepare you for the task of handling the asset."

"The asset," Rumlow repeated; the word felt strangely heavy in his mouth.

With a genuine smile, Pierce sauntered towards the cylindrical object and patted the side like a proud father. Brock looked to Pierce, to the weathered doctor, and to Bishop but he hadn't found any answers on their faces. It was apparent that if he wanted them, he would have to find them himself.

During this spectacularly crucial moment, Brock didn't show any self-doubt. He'd always known how to hide weakness or uncertainty, and it had come in handy at that moment. He walked towards the cylindrical object and eyed it from top to bottom.

The thing looked like it had come directly from an old sci-fi flick. It was made of heavy duty metal and bolts with what appeared to be a door cut into the front. There was a circular window whose glass appeared to be frosted over, hiding whatever lied within.

"What is this thing, some kind of bomb?"

"In a sense," Pierce laughed brightly then. "This isn't what you're going to be in charge of though, Rumlow. Dr. Bukov is in charge of this; it's what's inside that'll be your responsibility. Go on, take a peek."

Brock felt immediately wary. But all the same, he reached out and wiped at the window which was cold to the touch. Much of what had been covering the window had been condensation, although some of it was actually frost that was newly forming in an intricate pattern on the glass.

The discovery startled him; so much so that he jerked away as if he'd been frostbitten. Because what was in that sci-fi invention was none other than a person; the face was relaxed, unperturbed and strangely familiar, and completely and utterly terrifying. Brock wasn't able to place that face currently or even close to a year later; it had taken a long time for him to figure it out.

"You might have heard of him." Pierce glanced at the asset. "He's our finest weapon. After the war ended, the Russians had found him and trained him until the mid-sixties. That's when he exchanged hands and landed with HYDRA.

"The Russians had given him several codenames; the Longest Winter, Comrade, the American, but more pronounced than all of them was and still happens to be is the Winter Soldier."

Brock looked in disbelief at Pierce. The Winter Soldier was a ghost story; he had been made up to put fear into the new recruits. He'd been a motivational tool, in his own way, on pushing the recruits to their highest potential.

"Can't be real,"

"Rumlow, I think you're the best man to replace Williams. He'd grown old and careless; the asset needs someone who can learn to control him, but also let him do his job without holding him back. I think you're the perfect candidate."

"What happened to Williams? What happened to him for that matter?" Brock pointed at Bishop.

"Stupidity," Pierce smiled meanly. "The asset is a highly volatile weapon; that goes without saying. We have conditioned him to our liking. He has a strict fitness and diet regime that cannot be deviated from. He's only used when need be. But more importantly, he is a weapon. Never forget that, Rumlow. The asset is a weapon; he is not a human being."

Brock's eyes wandered back to the man inside the tank; suddenly shaken by the revelation. With every year after that, he would remember what Secretary Pierce had said that day. The Winter Soldier was a weapon; he was not human. Yet he had somehow forgotten that warning along the way. And that's why he had ended up in the position that he was in twenty years later.

It was the only explanation on how he had fallen in love with the Winter Soldier.


End file.
